


lethality

by obliviates



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, attempted suicide at least, did a lot of research so im hopin G its all accurate, its a fic about genjis death, its only explicit bc of the violence depicted in it, speculating how he died led to this, the mchanzo in it is pure fluff, the medical stuff at least, warning for murder, warning for suicide????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 20:53:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7479582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obliviates/pseuds/obliviates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The way Genji held himself, the way he was speaking, the way he was helping him prepare his own deathbed, it was getting to Hanzo. It was making him mad. “Why are you making me do this?” He asked, and it was quiet, and it was to no one and everyone all at once. To the elders, who wanted Hanzo to prove the point that he was a strong leader, to Genji, who he wanted to run away, to himself, who was seriously considering stabbing his brother. This is not the path Hanzo wanted to take.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lethality

**Author's Note:**

> second fic here i come. this one i wrote all in one day, holy heck. i'm pretty proud of it, too, but i can't take all the credit!!!  
> special things to the mchanzo discord for helping me out so much! <3
> 
> please though like honestly if you are... uncomfortable with suicide/murder, please be warned. it has attempted suicide and kind of murder.

“You have to do this, Hanzo. You are the leader of the clan. It is your duty.” There were eyes on him, several sets of eyes all staring him down as the door to the room he’d been shut in was locked. Punishing a child forced to grow up too soon, a child that’d never even lived the life of a child. 

“It is my burden,” he whispered, backing himself into the room and letting himself kind of fall onto the bed, and taking his head in his hands. This was not his intention.  _ You have to be the one to kill him, Hanzo.  _ He could hear their voices in his head, and they wouldn’t leave.  _ There is a chance, _ they paused, giving a sad expression to Hanzo, one that was too grim and dark for even his liking,  _ that if you do not, someone else might. The death given to him may be worse than you could give him.  _ His breathing stopped, pulse quickened and hands shaking. He told Genji not to run away. He had been the one to tell him not to leave, that he would protect him, that no one wanted him hurt.  _ You are a kind ruler, Hanzo. His death would be quick.  _ There was nothing that could be done for either of them. Poor children born to the wrong family, a family disconnected and dangerous, growing up to be killers before they even reached adulthood. It wasn’t that he hadn’t killed before, his hands had caused more bloodshed than he would readily admit.  _ For our family, _ he was told. Nothing seemed wrong with that. If one, ten, a hundred people had to die for the sake of their family, that couldn’t be so bad.

The room around him was silent, no noise at all, and he knew, somewhere, Genji was out and unaware of his fate. It was, indeed, a burden, knowing he had to be the one to end his brother’s life. He remembered when Genji picked up his first sword, remembered the laughter in his voice when he kept asking Hanzo if he was doing it right. Remembered how for awhile, they trained together. He remembered the disappointment in the eyes of the elders, in the eyes of his father, as he told him Genji stopped showing up. He should have lied, he thought. In the end, this was his fault anyway. He could have been a better older brother, he could have lied to protect Genji. The idea had always seemed to scare him. Ideas planted in his head and weaved in deeply, sewn in since a kid that telling lies was  _ bad  _ and they  _ would  _ find out, that if he did other than told they would dispose of him. He was disposable. He was disposable, and Hanzo could no longer remember a day when he could tell right from wrong. He had ideas, had thoughts, but few of them were his own.

When the meal got brought in, he made no move to eat it. It seemed vile, the idea that he would be sitting here one day with these services and Genji would be dead. Genji would be gone. One less person at the table, one of them pointed out, one less person to make room for. One less happy face, Hanzo added in his head. He wished it’d been him, somewhere in the back of his mind, and not Genji. He would give Genji all the needed skills if it would keep him alive, though he also knew it was too late for that.

He didn’t sleep that night. Eight hours he was in that bed, tossing and turning and thinking and worrying, wondering how exactly he was supposed to do this anyway. Genji had bodyguards of his own. Were they in on it, too? Most of them loved Genji, but was it an act? Reading emotions wasn’t exactly a strong suit, he thought as he rolled to look out the window. If he tried, maybe he could get out right then. If he tried and failed, he would get killed, right then. He wondered how disposable he was now with his father gone. No one could truly rule the clan without the blood relation, it was the blood that mattered, the name, not being a part of the empire. It was the bloodline that was precious and sought after, the people in it were just the vessels. The elders were not dumb, they knew that. But Hanzo didn’t, and it kept him locked in that room for two days, tossing and turning and thinking, not sleeping and not eating and barely breathing.

He was in an almost trance-like state, barely aware of his situation or his surroundings by the time they came to actually retrieve him.  _ Today is the day,  _ they told him, looking him over with judging eyes.  _ It must be done.  _ Hanzo wasn’t ready. But he had to be, he thought, as they took him away and bathed him, dressed him for the day, him barely paying anyone attention and ignoring almost all attempts at communication. His head felt foggy. He knew Genji would see the difference, he knew Genji would work out the situation almost immediately. That’s how it always was. The elders would be watching, today, though. Waiting. Waiting for him to take the life of his own brother.

It was a feeling he was unfamiliar with, a feeling he didn’t understand anymore and one he couldn’t make peace with. It was guilt, it was fear, it was everything he thought had been wiped from him years prior. When Genji arrived to meet him like the elders had arranged, his expression flickered from happy to concerned, back to happy again. He felt the presence of the elders. He would not ask, he would find out. He would sneak out tidbits of information, use different places as a way to get answers out of Hanzo, like a reverse scavenger hunt. But this time, he was the one being hunted. A deep breath and fear hit Hanzo again, a fear he still couldn’t bring himself to comprehend. This was to be his last day with his brother. He was lucky they were giving him that, but he knew that if he didn’t finish the job the end of the day, the promised, the fabled someone else would.

Hanzo’s head spun as his excited brother dragged him around, seemingly paying no mind to the grim expression on Hanzo’s face, seemingly ignoring the dark circles and absent stares and the way he was focusing on nothing and everything all at once. It was Genji who finally managed to get Hanzo to eat something, though he held him back when he tried to eat it all at once. He knew his brother, and he knew him well. Genji knew about his habits and how he took care of himself, and how he essentially didn’t when his mind was elsewhere. How he would consider it okay to let his body rot away even though he would get mad at others for doing it. It was always Genji that got him to eat, always Genji that got him to take a breather and to remember things would be okay.

It seemed to Hanzo like the day was passing too quickly, they were going from place to place in a blur, Genji was excited and Hanzo swore he was naive, unaware, but the situation was different than he knew. By the mid point of the day, Genji was very aware of the eyes on them, very aware of Hanzo’s state, and increasingly aware of Hanzo’s shaking hands. Genji hadn’t seen those before. He knew Hanzo’s hands to be only steady, knew them to only be ready and willing to do whatever it is he was told to do. Genji knew this time it was different. Hanzo felt this time should be no different.  _ For the good of our family,  _ he thought, eyes straying to his side to view his brother, who despite knowing his fate showed no fear. If Hanzo knew, he would be proud. Genji was resigned to his death, a fate, a duty he could finally accept. He was okay sacrificing himself for his brother; he knew there was a reason. If it was for Hanzo, it was okay.

The last event of the day had them at a rally, Genji watching happily as someone spoke of peace and what they needed in this world. He knew he should be scared as he pulled Hanzo away, ushering the older away from the crowd and somewhere where it was only the two of them, and the eyes scattered around that were always watching, the eyes they could both feel. Hanzo wanted to scream, wanted to tell him to run, and he was mouthing it, and he knew Genji could read it off his lips. He knew Genji could tell what he was saying, so why was he ignoring it? He knew it was time, he knew he had to do this now as he pulled out his sword slowly, and no fear flickered over Genji’s face. He was smiling. Hanzo’s hands were trembling worse than before, Genji noted as he watched the sword that seemed to not be able to steady itself.

“It is okay, brother. You will make an excellent leader to the clan,” he spoke, softly and evenly, voice calm and quiet and everything he wasn’t  _ supposed  _ to be. He looked ready, he looked like he knew what was going on, but he just stood there with that smile. That smile Hanzo once adored, but now couldn’t bring himself to look at; bringing him a vile feeling as he looked anywhere but at his brother’s face.

“You do not understand what you are talking about. You do not understand the consequences.” He ended his sentence there, voice just as even but stumbling through his sentences, voice heavy and full of emotions he wished not to voice. Why was he the one that was scared? The blade wasn’t pointed at him, the life coming to an end wasn’t meant to be him, but as he made an unsure move to steady his sword, Genji made no move to run. Why wasn’t he  _ leaving.  _ If he got away, the elders could do nothing except punish Hanzo for hesitation.

Genji smiled further, not his devious one; something almost sad but not  _ quite,  _ and he steadied the sword that was meant to go through him, was meant to strike him down. “It is not often I get to help you like this,” he noted offhandedly, releasing the sword after a moment and watching it sway a bit less than previously. “It is not often you ever need help. You are a strong ruler, a fearsome ruler.” Genji was helping him. Though he hadn’t taken note on how much Genji had known before, it was obvious to see that Genji was  _ helping  _ him, was about to give his life for him, was telling him  _ it was okay if he died. _ “You are not disposable, brother,” Genji began, and this one was accompanied by a little laugh. “I, on the other hand, do not matter. You will be fine without me, you know.”

The way Genji held himself, the way he was speaking, the way he was helping him prepare his own deathbed, it was getting to Hanzo. It was making him  _ mad.  _ “Why are you making me do this?” He asked, and it was quiet, and it was to no one and everyone all at once. To the elders, who wanted Hanzo to prove the point that he was a strong leader, to Genji, who he wanted to run away, to himself, who was seriously considering stabbing his brother. This is not the path Hanzo wanted to take. The elders had painted tales of how Genji was destroying their empire, how he would lose them everything and how people were after him regardless; how at least this way it would be his brother. Someone he loved. At the time, it seemed a better death than dying to a stranger. At the time, it seemed the only way.

“It is your duty, Hanzo.” There was no resentment in his voice, though he felt it in his heart, if only slightly. He knew it was partially his fault, and he knew Hanzo was not at fault for being raised this way since birth, but it was at the hands of his brother he was to die, and not the hands of the elders. He knew Hanzo could get rid of them easily, would get rid of them easily if they had just killed Genji themselves. “It is your duty to as as the clan needs.”

He could feel the anger in him bubbling up to a boiling point, and in one, quick motion, he stuck forward with his sword, voice harsh and loud but not screaming when he answered, “It is my  _ burden. _ ” He retracted his sword quickly, before the reality of the situation could hit him. He could feel the body in front of him grow limp, and he pulled back just in time to realize what he had done. His pupils grew wide, heart speeding up and stomach in knots, swallowing heavily as he fell to the ground along with the young man before him. Quickly, he scrambled to pull him into his lap and look down at him, hot tears forming at his eyes as he looked down at the younger of the two.

“Your aim.. Is impeccable as always,” he laughed, voice breathy and rough and eyes barely open as he moved a hand up to place a hand over his now bleeding chest. Hanzo could see his features slowing, his breathing getting shallow and heavy, and it was a familiar scene of him going to sleep when they were children, but this time he wouldn’t wake up. Hanzo made sure of that. “You do not.. have to feel sorry, brother. Your hands struck me down, but I did this to myself. You did the elders proud.” His talking was delayed, split up and sentences fragmenting and breaking off for a moment or two on occasion.

It wasn’t long before he found himself being carried away by his guards, not to punish but to get him away from the scene, not to harm him but to soothe him. To confirm he did well. Hanzo was strong, but not in such a way he could get away from three people meant to protect him. He must have been delusional, because the barely visible body seemed to be trying to move. He wanted to have hope, but it was crushed down by elders telling him he did well, telling him he was a good leader and that he made a good choice. Sacrificing something for the clan was an important trial to go through, but now he was truly a leader and all of Hanamura could rejoice in his glory.

* * *

It had been over a week since Hanzo had taken the life of his younger brother. He had hope that maybe the other was alive and fine, but having not heard anything about him in the week other than the pats on the back from the elders was dragging him down. That was it. Genji was dead, and it was his fault. The only light he had left in the world was gone, and it had been his fault.

If his brother could die at his blade, so could he, he thought with a bitter laugh. Everything he felt had turned to guilt, remorse, regret. He was in almost a trance when he did it; he didn’t remember the exact area of where he stabbed and he hated it. He hated himself for it. He ran his finger along the blade, hissed a little when it dug in, but watched the pool down it and gave a little frown. He was weak. Even breaking skin made him flinch. He moved to look in the mirror, taking himself in, watching as he drew the sword to his throat and dug it in before making the motion to drag it across his flesh. It fell to the floor before he did, loud clatter making the situation somehow so much more  _ real. _

But Hanzo wasn’t lucky. He was watched, at all times, and as soon as his body hit the floor with a ‘thud’ there was a guard at his side, ready to give him medical attention. He was barely awake for any of it. They would smack his cheek, shake him awake and he’d groan. They’d tell him to wake up and he’d give a soft noise of discontent in response, they’d call him names and he would quietly laugh to himself. He didn’t want to stay awake. Everything was growing quiet and cold around him, his world spinning and everything confusing. Nothing made sense.

For Hanzo, it was awhile before he woke up. He woke up to worried, disapproving faces, ones he wasn’t really interested in seeing. He didn’t want to be awake. He didn’t want to be here, or anywhere. He knew he would be watched more closely now, and that he didn’t have much a chance of getting out of there. And so when everyone left him be, guards outside his door and window, Hanzo wept. For the first time since his brother’s death, the dryness of his tears were gone and he wept, hiding his face and wondering what would become of him.

* * *

“... Ya don’t have to be ashamed of cryin’, Hanzo,” McCree soothed, and it was the familiar voice and warmth that he needed to hear to break up his story, to wake him from the memory he’d been reliving during his telling of it. When he finally brought himself to look up at the other once more, Hanzo noted he looked sad. Never had he ever managed to spill any of this before, never had he ever told another living soul of what he had done to his brother. “Why didn’t ya explain it to him? Ya don’t gotta let him hate ya, Hanzo.” His expression darkened further, and he laughed.

“He.. Deserves to hate me,” Hanzo slurred, voice a bit deeper, voice full of hurt and fear and McCree honestly couldn’t tell if it was toward himself or otherwise. It wasn’t like McCree expected Genji to forgive and believe Hanzo immediately, but when it came down to it, Hanzo wasn’t the type to lie. It seemed to be embedded deep in him. He would talk his way out of things, would take what people said and not respond, but he never seemed to actually lie about the situation. Whenever Genji shot him accusing words, Hanzo would agree, because he believed the whole thing truly was his fault.

“I don’t think he wants to hate ya, Hanzo. He doesn’t truly remember what happened that day, just what he can speculate, just what’s been fed ta him through.. Other sources. Sources that tell lies.” McCree’s hand moved to smooth down the other’s hair, moved in gentle subtle motions, keeping his movements calm and collected despite the sadness he felt weighing on him.

If there was anything Jesse McCree was good at, it was soothing his boyfriend’s worries. But this was different, this was a deeper hurt than he’d known about. This was a deeper hurt than he would want for anyone, and his eyes traced the scar on Hanzo’s neck before he pulled him closer without a word. He took the bottle from the other’s hand, placing it on the table in front of him before hooking his chin over Hanzo’s shoulder, burying his face there and taking a deep inhale.

“I hope ya.. I hope ya don’t still consider yerself unlucky, y’know.” He could feel Hanzo trying to look at him, could feel the slight movement of his head to which he responded by burying his face further, inhaling the smell of alcohol and salt and sweat combined with Hanzo’s natural smell, and he was glad he found some familiarity in the current moment. Previously, the scar had been a mystery to them all, and it was one no one asked about. You don’t ask about things like that, and everyone agreed. “Ya did what you had ta, Hanzo. Ya.. Only did what everyone expected of ya. Those. Groups like that. Everyone’s a pawn to them.” That part was spoken from personal experience, but not one he was going to share while his boyfriend was crying in his lap. Arms snaked around Hanzo’s waist, held him tight and close and Hanzo felt for the first time that if anyone meant to protect him, it would be this man. Hanzo realized something that drunken night. Though there was a rift between the two them, the light in his brother never went out. Though he was consumed with sadness, with guilt, with the wrongs he had done that he still had yet to right, there was a new light in his life. A curious one, one that glowed more brilliant than he could manage to explain to anyone, and for the first time in years, for the first time since being a kid, Hanzo considered just how lucky he actually was.

Hanzo Shimada was sad, was hurt, was still mourning a life he didn’t even properly take, and though he was all these things, he wasn’t alone in them. There was someone here that could take the hurt away with a few words, even if only momentarily. And Hanzo pressed closer to the bigger of the two, wrapped his arms around the man’s neck and buried his face in whatever he could of the other’s flesh. And for the first time, he realized maybe he was luckier than he’d previously thought.

* * *

_ Genji could feel blood, could feel himself dying, but he wasn’t dead yet, and there would be others. He would willingly die to Hanzo’s blade, but no one else had that right over him. He wouldn’t go down to anyone else without a fight, he wouldn’t easily let himself die to any blade other than his brother’s. He didn’t die with the first strike and Hanzo was gone, so he would die to no others. _

_ He could still feel eyes on him, though he know the elders followed Hanzo back, which means easily they have someone going after him. Their endurance was tested frequently, and though he wasn’t as good as Hanzo in that particular area, he would not let his brother down. He may have been struck down for the good of the family, and removed from the family he was, but Genji Shimada was not dead. _

_ He was good at sneaking; he’d snuck away from his father even with guards watching him, even with people hired to find him and bring him back if stepping out of place. He was good at avoiding his father’s punishments, the elder’s punishments, taking them to an extent but never fully accepting them. He would have been okay if he had died, but, since he wasn’t dead yet… Maybe he still had hope. He took a moment to steady himself as he stood, assessing himself. The sword had not struck his heart, thankfully missing by maybe a centimeter. He still had somewhat of a chance. He knew Hanzo well enough to know that though his blade was shaky, this was on purpose. Between the two major arteries, close to his left lung. It would collapse, but that would be quick, and he still had time. He was healthy enough that he would probably be okay even if he didn’t receive medical attention, so long as no one found him while he was out. _

_ It wasn’t long before he got caught up to. He was good at sneaking under normal circumstances, but currently he was not up to being fast. He was slow, careful, quiet. But not enough, he noticed as he turned directly around to face someone who had been following him for about 5 minutes, rapidly gaining on him. They had no time to hide. “If you wish to strike me down, you will fail.” He said, drawing his sword and smiling once more. His injuries slowed him down slightly as he moved to take the first strike, getting deep gashes for cuts across his face before managing to get the sword where he wanted it - directly through the heart. _

_ It was a quick death, he noted as he pulled out his sword and glanced around with the one eye he could see from - the other shut tight and bleeding heavily. He took a seat on the closest thing he could find, and took a deep, laboured breath. Maybe he would just rest awhile. Maybe he would just shut his eyes and let himself take a break, take a breather. _

_ He wasn’t fully aware of it, but Genji was asleep for over a week. The first thing he tried to do was inhale a sharp breath, but the air felt foreign in his lungs. He inhaled, quicker and quicker and quicker but it made him feel winded, felt wrong in his body. His body. His eyes shakily moved over himself. This was not his body. This was not his home. Where was he? _

_ There were unfamiliar voices around him, talking and worrying and speaking things he couldn’t understand, and he took a long, slow long around to access his situation. It seemed like a hospital, but not quite a hospital; it sure as hell smelled like one, but it was almost too small. The room was too small and filled with many beds, some filled and some not. “Good morning,” it was a friendly voice that spoke, but still not one he recognized. “It’s nice to see you are feeling well enough to be awake!” His eyes - eye, he noted - followed the source of the sound, finding a young woman at his side. He wanted to question where he was, question what was going on, but she urged his silence and told him to relax himself, that it was going to be okay. He wasn’t dead, and he wouldn’t die. She told him of how they saved him. Told them of how when he felt a little more aware, he could tell them all about whatever had happened. But he remembered nothing of what happened, memory blocking it out as he was receiving treatment after treatment for all the damage his body took. _

**Author's Note:**

> the bandaid for your wounds: https://i.gyazo.com/thumb/1200/_c23f21ac28590dd41ab800a8753aa4a6-png.jpg  
> FANART SKETCH??? that happened while i was writing: http://enderbornfaerie.tumblr.com/post/147358497072/  
> credit for both to enderbornfaere.tumblr.com !! tysm!


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